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Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Daxos Ironbow Dwarf, Rogue, Thief, Level 05 HP: 35 / 43 Armor Class: 14 Conditions: N/A Location: The Coach House Action: Hypnotized Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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The conversation between Kosara and BlackBerry, while innocuous on the surface, set something off in Daxos all the same. A familiar unease crept in, the kind born of too many half-heard conversations in stone tunnels where secrets traveled faster than sound. His hand slid instinctively to the hilt of one of his swords, fingers tightening around the grip.

"Too much confusion. Nothin’ ever good comes o’ this much noise."

Before he could voice anything more, light crashed down in the cellar.

“By the stones—look at the brightness o’ that!”

Kosara’s Sacred Flame struck true, radiant fire slamming into the hunched figure within the cage. Flesh burned away from bone in a grotesque display of practiced efficiency, holy light carving the thing apart with merciless precision.

And still, it did not fall.

A howl tore free—endless, breathless, and wrong. It echoed through the space, clawing into the marrow rather than the ears. The thing rose, eyeless sockets lifting as more flesh sloughed from its frame, wooden sandals scraping as it stepped once toward the bars.

"Naw… I kent necromancy was foul, but this—this is somethin’ else."

The scream never ceased. It rattled him down to the bone, scattering his thoughts no matter how hard he tried to pull them together. He watched the others move, fight, react, a growing weight of shame settling in his chest.

"Should’ve acted sooner. I felt it.

The creature suddenly pulled itself together—and then vanished in a silvery mist.

Pain exploded beneath his ribs.

“Gah—damn it!”

He dropped to his knees, breath tearing from his lungs as panic surged. His hands fumbled at the wound, mind racing, vision tunneling.

"That’s bad. That’s real bad. Too deep—too sharp—"

He twisted, trying to find where the thing had gone, fear rising fast and hot—

Then warmth washed over him.

Light spilled across his senses, steady and reassuring, easing the pain just enough to keep him grounded. He looked up to see Kosara there and gave a short, grateful nod.

“Aye… thank ye. Ye’ve got my thanks.”

Slowly, with effort, he forced himself back toward his feet.

Nearby, bones clattered against stone, then scraped and clicked as they began to reassemble.

"What fresh hell is this now…"

As he stared at the reforming figure, something shifted. The noise of the room dulled. Motion blurred at the edges. His thoughts grew heavy, sluggish, as if wading through thick water.

"Why can I no’ look away…?"

The chaos around him faded into a distant hum, leaving only the thing before him, his mind slowing, sinking, the world narrowing until it felt like nothing else mattered.

@rivaan Your Up!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Daxos Ironbow Dwarf, Rogue, Thief, Level 05 HP: 43 / 43 Armor Class: 14 Conditions: N/A Location: The Coach House Action: Eyes on the Prize Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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No more prying.
No more forcing answers out of stone and shadow.
Now he watched.

Reactive—that was safer. That was survival. It was then that something didn’t sit right. The cells had been little more than an afterthought to him at first glance—rough iron bars, damp stone, and straw bedding tossed in without care. But now, standing still and letting the room breathe, his eye caught on the middle cell.

The straw there wasn’t settled the same way.
Not flattened evenly.
Not kicked aside like the others.

It bulged—subtly. As if something beneath it refused to lie flat. A faint suggestion of color peeked through the yellowed straw, dull but unmistakably not straw. And then—just for a moment—there was movement. Not enough to be sure. A shift. A twitch. A lie settling poorly.

That’s no’ right. Straw disnae breathe.

Curiosity prickled, sharp and unwelcome. Against his better judgment, Daxos approached the cell door, boots quiet on stone. He crouched, examining the lock—old, but serviceable. Nothing fancy.

He slipped a pick from his kit, working by feel, letting muscle memory take over.
Click.
Nothing.
He adjusted, tried again.
Click.
Still nothing.
A third attempt yielded only stubborn resistance.
He paused, lips twitching despite himself.

Hells below… ah keep missin’ my touch. Locks used tae sing tae me.

A quiet, uneasy chuckle escaped him—more breath than sound.

Either ah’m losin’ my edge, or fate’s havin’ a right laugh at my expense.

The humor didn’t linger. That sense of pressure—of being watched, of something waiting—crept back in. His fingers were stilled. He straightened slightly, hand drifting away from the lock and closer to where his weapon rested. No. Not alone. He turned his head just enough to keep the cell in view and raised his voice—not loud, but firm.

“Oi. One o’ ye—come have a look at this, aye?”
“Somethin’ in this middle cell’s no’ sittin’ as it should. Ah’d rather nae find oot what it is by myself.”

He took a half-step back, giving the bars space, eyes never leaving the disturbed straw.
If something decided to move again — he intended to have someone at his side when it did.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Daxos Ironbow Dwarf, Rogue, Thief, Level 05 HP: 43 / 43 Armor Class: 14 Conditions: N/A Location: The Coach House Action: Chaos Fades Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Daxos stood rooted where he was for a heartbeat longer than strictly necessary.
The chaos ebbed—Lizbeth’s frantic narration cutting off, Victoria’s presence snapping back into being as abruptly as it had vanished—and in the space left behind, memory rushed in to fill the void.

Stone shifting where it shouldnae. Air movin’ when it’s meant tae be dead still. Magic misbehavin’ without warnin’. Aye… ah’ve not felt this before.

Deep places.
Collapsed galleries.

Runes scratched by mad hands that didn’t care who wandered too close.
His jaw tightened as the old reflex surged—heart rate spiking, muscles coiling, vision narrowing. For an instant he was back underground, listening for the sound that meant the ceiling was about to come down or the dark was about to start moving.

Daxos closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose.

Slow.
Measured.
Counted.

When he opened them again, the edge was gone—filed down into something sharper, calmer.

He gave a short nod to BlackBerry, acknowledging the man’s words without ceremony, then stepped fully across the threshold.
The temperature changed first. Cooler. Drier. Old air sealed away from the world above.

Then the light—red, localized, unnatural—casting long shadows that bent wrong against the stone.
Daxos didn’t rush.
He catalogued.

The magic circle on the floor: engraved deep, not painted. Permanent. Old enough that the stone had settled around it. The runes weren’t decorative—they were functional, evenly spaced, deliberate. Not ritual flourish. Containment.

Nae quick spell. Nae panic work. This was built tae last.

His eyes moved to the restraints on the table. Practical placement. Wrists and ankles positioned for leverage and immobility, not torture for its own sake. Whoever designed it cared about keeping someone still.
Shelving at the far wall—books arranged by size, not subject. A sign of someone who returned to them often. Sundries placed for reach, not display.
Crates to the left.

The walls themselves drew his attention last—and longest.
Different stone. Different cut. Subtle seams where new met old, worked in a style he knew in his bones.

Duergar hands. Or someone taught by them. Clever bastards… always hid their strength in the structure, no’ the ornament.

He committed it all to memory.

Angles.
Distances.
Weak points.
What could be moved.
What shouldn’t be touched.

Only then did he straighten slightly, rolling his shoulders as if shrugging off the weight of the room.

Whatever this place is… it wasnae built for comfort. An’ it wasnae built for accident.

His suspicion hardened—not fear, not panic, but the steady, watchful caution of a man who had survived places far worse than this. And he was already thinking about what he might need…

when this room decided to make its next move.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Daxos Ironbow Dwarf, Rogue, Thief, Level 05 HP: 43 / 43 Armor Class: 14 Conditions: N/A Location: The Coach House Action: Chaos Ensues Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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The moment the last stone gave way and Blackberry wrestled the frame free—inch by inch through firelit tendrils and grinding dust—the stale air of the hidden chamber exhaled into the cellar. The glow from within painted the doorway in a sullen red, a pulse of arcane light that danced off motes of drifting stone powder.

And the room beyond…
A magic circle dominated the floor—engraved deeply, illuminated from within by a contained crimson radiance. Runes circled its perimeter like watchful eyes; the center held a symbol that refused to settle into a single meaning. A rune atop a rune, maybe. Or something older. Something with teeth.

To the left: crates.
To the right: a table fitted with leather straps and metal cuffs—functional, unforgiving. Across the way: a lonely shelf of baubles and books.

It was a wizard’s workroom.
Or a prison.
Or both.

BlackBerry marveled at Daxos’s handiwork, stepping forward with due caution, tendrils pulling the door free like a surgeon removing a bone from a wound.

Then—
The magic surged.
A ripple.
A pulse.

A sudden wrongness in the air like pressure shifting before a cave-in. Lizbeth froze, the sudden narration of her every move and then her bolting, a streak of panic and instinct. Victoria blinked out of existence mid-breath, with no warning.

Daxos staggered, fingers curling into a fist as something unseen brushed across his senses—not a strike, not a spell, but like falling forward without moving. A tug on the mind. A whisper of displacement. His instincts screamed—trap, collapse, ambush, run—but decades of training and survival snapped hard against the rising tension. He drew himself up to his full height, slammed his boots into the stone for grounding, and let his voice tear through the chaos like a war horn.

“EVERYBODY—HOLD YER DAMN POSITIONS!”
The command cracked the air.

“Settle yerselves! Nae panickin’—nae runnin’—eyes up an’ hands where they should be! We’ll nae make sense o’ anythin’ if ye scatter like startled goats!”

The authority in his voice wasn’t loud for loudness’ sake—it was the tone of a dwarven tunnel captain calling orders during a cave tremor, one meant to cut through fear before fear made fools of everyone.

His gaze swept the room, sharp and assessing despite the churn in his gut.

“We keep calm, we take stock, an’ we do this proper. Nobody moves ‘less they’ve a mind tae be crushed, cursed, or worse. HOLD.”

He planted himself firmly at the threshold, one hand braced on the stone, the other hovering near his belt—steady, controlled, every sense straining.

The chaos would sort itself in moments. But only if someone stood still enough to anchor it, and that someone, for now,
was him.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Daxos Ironbow Dwarf, Rogue, Thief, Level 05 HP: 43 / 43 Armor Class: 14 Conditions: N/A Location: The Coach House Action: Getting to work Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Daxos listened patiently as Blackberry voiced his concerns, one thick brow raising at the question.

“Whit ah meant, lad,” he began, gesturing toward the polished wooden barrier,

“is that some Dwarven doors arenae made tae yield through the wee lock in front o’ ye. When ye build deep underground—proper deep—yer doorframe’s the true guard. Sometimes the only way tae get past the thing is tae work the stone around the mechanism instead o’ fightin’ the lock itself. Ye move the bones instead o’ ticklin’ the skin, ye ken?”

He watched Blackberry try his “open sesame”, lips twitching.

“Nae harm tryin’, but if it were magic, laddie, ye’d feel the hum in the stone.”

His fingers brushed the wall again—feeling for that hum.
There was none.

Kathryn and Blackberry exchanged another round of thoughts about fetching Master Urmdrus, and Kosara mentioned it as well. Daxos exhaled softly through his nose, amused and mildly exasperated.

“In the time it’d take tae bring the Master doon here, get him settled, an’ have him squintin’ at the stone, ah’d already have ye lot inside wi’ tea in hand.”

But then Lizbeth spoke—and her voice, though small, carried weight far beyond its volume.

Daxos turned to her, searching her face for doubt…
and found none.

He gave her a single, solid nod—the kind a soldier gives before breaking a shield wall.

“Aye, lass. Stand back then.”

He rolled his shoulders, took a breath, and knelt beside the frame again.

What followed was not brute force—at least, not in the crude sense.
Daxos handled the stone with the precision of a surgeon and the familiarity of someone raised among halls carved from the bones of the earth.
His fingers traced the mortar lines, feeling where weight settled, where tension sat, where the frame bore the pressure of the hidden corridor.
Then he chose his points—three in total.

Not random.
Not lucky.
Chosen.

He produced a compact hammer and a prybar from his pack. The tools met stone with a sharp, ringing clang, echoing through the cellar like a bell calling dwarves to work.

The first strike sheared a sliver of stone cleanly away.
The second widened an unseen seam.

The third broke a mooring with a crack like ice fracturing on a frozen lake.
Dust plumed around his boots as he worked—
controlled, rhythmic, purposeful.

Despite the harsh sound of metal on stone, his technique caused minimal damage. The stones surrounding the door loosened, tilting just enough to break the tension keeping the door locked in place. Small fragments fell, but the overall frame remained structurally sound—repairable with a day’s work, maybe less.

Finally, with a grunt of effort, he pried the last anchoring wedge free and stepped back as the door shifted.
Not violently—
not collapsing—
but releasing, surrendering to the removal of the pressure that once held it immovable.

He wiped dust from his beard.

“There we are. Door’s no’ broken—just… convinced.”

He glanced back at Lizbeth.

“Ye said ye were meant tae go in. Then let’s see what fate’s got waitin’.”

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Daxos Ironbow Dwarf, Rogue, Thief, Level 05 HP: 43 / 43 Armor Class: 14 Conditions: N/A Location: The Coach House Action: Door Stuff Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Blackberry’s direct question about combat ability drew a small, confident snort from the dwarf.

“Unnerved? Nay, lad. Ah can handle masel’ just fine. If the dead walk or scream or dance a bloody jig, they’ll get the same greeting they all do—me shield in their ribs an’ me axe in their neck.”

But before Blackberry could respond, Kathryn’s triumphant shout came crashing down the stairs.Daxos was on his feet instantly.

“Right—on me way!”

He thundered down the stairs behind the excited warrior, boots striking stone with steady, controlled force. The change in air pressure was subtle, but he felt it the moment he reached the bottom—his instincts tightening like a drawn bowstring.
His eyes narrowed at the secret vault-like door and the short, oppressive hallway beyond. The craftsmanship of the stone whispered of hidden places and things best kept sealed.
He crouched beside the polished wooden door, testing the lock with a practiced hand. The tools flicked, twisted, probed—and clicked in a manner that told him everything he needed to know.The lock held.He exhaled through his nose, annoyed but thoughtful.

“Och, stubborn bastard… not givin’ a lick. Clever work, though…”

Shifting his attention to the stonework surrounding the frame, he brushed his fingers over the joints—feeling the grooves, the rests, the subtle differences in age.

“…Aye. This is newer stone. Fitted tight. Duergar craft, if ah’m any judge.”

He stood, dusting off his palms.

“This door’s nae meant tae be opened by the lock alone. We’d need tae work the stone around it—loosen the frame itself. That’s the only proper way in.”

He turned to Lizbeth, tone respectful but firm.

“Lass, would ye mind seekin’ yer aunt? If we’re tae start pryin’ at her walls, best we’ve her blessin’ first. Ah’d rather not offend the one who keeps this place in order.”

He stepped back from the door, arms crossing as he regarded the sealed space with a soldier’s wary interest.

“Whatever lies beyond… it’s meant tae stay quiet. An’ that alone makes me damned curious.”

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Daxos Ironbow Dwarf, Rogue, Thief, Level 05 HP: 43 / 43 Armor Class: 14 Conditions: N/A Location: The Coach House Action: Meeting the group Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Daxos dipped his head respectfully toward Lizbeth, one hand lightly touching his chest in a gesture more formal than his usual mannerisms would suggest.
“Aye, well… the master’s a guid soul. Ah only did what any dwarf wi’ a shred o’ decency would’ve done. If he needs help again, ye just point me in the right direction.”

He turned next to Kathryn, returning her curtsy with a small but well-practiced bow—one clearly carried over from his life before exile.
“An’ the pleasure’s mine, lass. Yer manners do ye credit. Pyke, was it? Fine name. Rolls off the tongue nice enough.”
His grin sharpened playfully.
“Daxos is what they call me—Dax, if ye’d rather save breath.”

As Blackberry busied himself with the pot, Daxos walked over, boots thudding softly on the wooden floor.
“Tea’ll suit me just fine, friend. Anythin’ warm that disnae taste like boiled socks is a treasure in these parts.”

He settled into a nearby chair, crossing his arms as he surveyed the small gathering—eyes flicking between them with a quick, measuring sharpness. After a quiet beat, he leaned slightly toward Blackberry and added under his breath:
“Quite the lot ye’ve gathered here. Anyone speakin’ o’ necromancy so openly… well, that tells me they can handle themselves in just about any scrape, eh?”

For the briefest heartbeat, his gaze hardened—cold, calculating, the look of a man who weighed every word and every move. Then, just as fast, it melted into a booming, good-natured laugh.
“Hah! Ah’d like tae see that someday, truth be told. Necromancy’s rare where I’m from—an’ rarer still tae meet folk who dinnae whisper the word like it’s a curse.”

He reclined back, expression warm once more, though the earlier glint hinted at deeper layers beneath the easy humor.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Daxos Ironbow Dwarf, Rogue, Thief, Level 05 HP: 43 / 43 Armor Class: 14 Conditions: N/A Location: The Coach House Action: Meeting the group Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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The door swung inward on a breath of cold air, carrying Daxos Ironbow’s arrival in a swirl of frost and travel dust. His gaze swept across the unfamiliar faces within—the woman in purple speaking cheerily to another, and the faint creak of footsteps from the stairwell marking the approach of someone else. He caught the sound of his own name from the woman’s lips—Lizbeth L’Rose, she called herself—and her words carried that easy, practiced politeness of someone raised among civility.

He inclined his head slightly, offering a faint but courteous smile beneath the shadow of his hood.

“Aye, ye’ve the right o’ it, miss. I’ve yet tae speak wi’ yer aunt, but I’ve been workin’ under Master Urmdrus fer the time bein’. Meetin’ her’s on me list, though—can’t much stay in a place an’ nae pay respects tae the one who runs it.”

He gave a small nod toward her before his eyes shifted, catching movement in the corner of the room. Another woman—pale, sharp-eyed—addressed him with polite composure, though there was something… peculiar in her tone. A restrained warmth, perhaps, or the faint amusement of someone used to keeping their cards close. Sisters of the Weave, the phrase lingered faintly in her words—or perhaps just in his thoughts, the way her manner and presence carried an air of mystery he couldn’t quite place.

The words echoed in his head as he turned them over. Sisters of the Weave. It wasn’t a name he’d heard in his travels, and he wondered whether it was local superstition, a title of station, or something else entirely.

Then came another voice—this one from the stairwell, refined but faintly nervous. The well-dressed gentleman bowed slightly and introduced himself as Baronfjørd Chedgusah, though the nickname BlackBerry followed swiftly after.

The dwarf’s expression softened into a polite half-smile, though internally he marked how the man’s cheer seemed… misplaced. Almost forced. A man trying too hard to make everything feel ordinary when it clearly wasn’t.

“Pleasure’s mine, lad. An’ aye, Kosara’s a lively one, I’ll give her that. Keeps the road from growin’ dull, at least.”

He chuckled lowly, rubbing a bit of frost from his beard before casting another assessing look around the room.

“Tea sounds grand, though I’ll nae turn me nose up at somethin’ stronger, if ye’ve any tae spare. It’s a fair walk from the township in this weather.”

Even as he spoke, part of his mind kept circling back—Lizbeth and Victoria, both strange sorts, he thought. Polished, practiced, and just a touch uncanny. And then there was BlackBerry—friendly, yes, but uneasy in a way that set off quiet alarms in the back of his mind.

Whatever this vineyard held beneath its pleasant veneer, Daxos intended to keep his wits about him.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Daxos Ironbow Dwarf, Rogue, Thief, Level 05 HP: 43 / 43 Armor Class: 14 Conditions: N/A Location: Southmoor Action: Meeting the group Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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“Och now, looks like I’ve stumbled into quite the gatherin’,” Daxos said with a crooked half-smile as he followed Kosara into the warmth of the Coachhouse. He brushed the lingering snow from his shoulders, his keen eyes flicking about the room — first toward the woman in violet speaking with the pale young lass, then to the scaled figure making his way down the stairs with slow, deliberate steps.

“Name’s Daxos,” he began, giving a polite nod to both parties, “Daxos Ironbow, if formality’s worth somethin’ here. Kosara says ye lot are tangled up in the goin’s-on at the Vineyard, an’ seein’ as I’ve business there meself, thought it wise tae make introductions.”

He turned his attention first toward the woman in violet, offering a faint, guarded grin.
(Carries herself like she’s used tae commandin’ a room — steady hands, sharp eyes. Magic about her, maybe. The kind that hums in the air afore it bites.)

His gaze drifted briefly to the younger pale woman she spoke to — unfamiliar, but her presence tugged at a faint sense of unease he couldn’t quite name.
(Somethin’ off in the air around that one. Not bad, just… heavy. Like breathin’ in old stone.)

When the scaled traveler reached the top of the stairs, Daxos straightened, tone dipping toward friendly curiosity.
“An’ here’s another face I’ve not met — fine company, by the looks o’ it. Suppose I’ve found the right lot after all.”

(Scaled, armed, an’ calm — the sort that’s seen battle but doesn’t brag about it. A rare sort these days. Best tae keep the measure of him quiet-like.)

“Anyway, I’m glad tae meet ye all, even if I’ve not the names to match the faces just yet. Here’s hopin’ we’ll fix that soon enough.”

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Daxos Ironbow Dwarf, Rogue, Thief, Level 05 HP: 43 / 43 Armor Class: 14 Conditions: N/A Location: Southmoor Action: Traveling with a friend. Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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"Och aye, sounds like ah right lively tale, that one..." Daxos muttered under his breath as Kosara went on about cursed brandy and holy fire, his boots crunching through the snow beside her. He glanced sidelong at the tiefling’s animated gestures, her words spilling out like a bard on festival day. Beneath his hood, his expression remained mostly unreadable—save for the faint furrow of thought creasing his brow.

"Wererats, cursed drink, buried burrows an’ folk poppin’ up bigger than they were a minute ago... aye, if that’s the kind o’ business ye lot stumble upon regular, ah reckon this corner o’ the world’s a wee bit more... animated than ah first took it for," he mused, tone low and contemplative. His mind wandered briefly—if such horrors were lurking in backwater villages, what manner of darkness might be coiled beneath the vineyard itself?

The dwarf gave a faint chuckle as Kosara beamed and motioned toward the coach house ahead. Her energy was infectious, though his reply carried a tempered amusement. "Och, lead the way then, lass. Ah’ve half a mind tae meet these fine heroes o’ yours. Sounds like ah’ll be sharin’ company wi’ a pack o’ local legends, eh? Ah best make sure ah dinnae embarrass meself before the famous lot." His grin was crooked, his tone wry but warm—a spark of genuine curiosity hidden behind his careful reserve.

As they approached, Daxos took in the quiet snowbound scene, his eyes sharp beneath his hood. For all Kosara’s brightness, he felt the weight of something unspoken hanging over this place—mystery, old grief, maybe danger yet to come. Still, for now, he’d play along. After all, there was no better way to learn the lay of the land than by keeping close to the folk who stirred its secrets.